Classical Rap, S. 1-2-3
Pieces referenced: *Handel, Hallelujah Chorus from The Messiah *Johann Pachelbel, Canon in D *Vivaldi, Violin Concerto in E, RV 269 ("Spring" Concerto from The Seasons) Lyrics So anyway, now hear the sound Of the very best rapper for miles around Yes, I'm the fellow who's where it's at There's absolutely no denying that Yes I'm the apex, I'm the best I'm considerably better than all the rest The acme, the zenith, the tippest of the top The nec plus ultra the hippest of the hop The summit, the pinnacle, the highest of the high The apogee of rappers, that's I Well I'm doing pretty well for myself right now I'm pulling down about eighty thou My wife make forty, she's a Vassar grad And hey, for a woman, that's not half bad So we're talking six figures here But there's one thing I want to make crystal clear I have to laugh and I have to scoff When I hear people calling us well off Anyone who thinks that we're sitting pretty Doesn't know what it's like in the big bad city You've got to buy your apartment but the mortgage will be A mere pittance compared to the maintenance fee To get a lightbulb changed in the hall Takes twenty-seven men, it's a union call The doorman, the mailman, the sanitation crew The parking attendant and the cleaning lady, too The super and his helpers, they all get tips And then we've got to talk about the memberships The book club, the wine club the health club fees The fruit of the month club and the one for cheese The opera subscription, the museum and the zoo The Sierra Club, the ACLU There's the magazines to which you must subscribe There's the plumbing inspector that you have to bribe There's the parking space you have to rent or buy There's the country house for the month of July You will never have money, you can never relax With the federal, state and city income tax And you can't do your own return, oh no You might end up paying what you owe Hey, I'm no Bonnie and I'm no Clyde I'm just trying to get along on the (unh!) Upper West Side Now anyone will tell you that you're a fool If you don't send your kids to a private school And no one living here would even think Of trying to get along without seeing a shrink A yoga class every other day Helps chase the subway blues away Not to mention the blues from the doctor bills And the root canals and the various pills Your daughter takes flute and dancing, too Your son takes piano, guitar and kung fu The baby's allergic to cotton, not silk The cat can only drink gerbil milk A babysitter here if she's got half a brain Can make more money than the governor of Maine OK, I know, that's not hard to do But I think my message is getting through You've got a lot to lose, you've got a lot to hide When you're trying to get along on the (unh!) Upper West Side On Sundays, to give my wife a treat The kids and I used to hit the street We'd grab some donuts and head for the park Sometimes we wouldn't come back 'till dark Well that was only fair, I freely acknowledge But hey, now our kids are both in college Yet here I am still out on the street Soaking up rain and killing my feet By walking this dog all over the place So my wife can have her precious space Is this high noon? I'm Gary Cooper? Facing the world with a pooper scooper? In New York City, they always say, You can get anything any time of day But you're looking at a man who can't get what he wants Zabar's is out of chocolate croissants The book review was missing from the Times The Korean market is out of limes The pool hall here closed up last week To make room for another ice cream boutique You don't know a thing about suffering and pain If you haven't tried to catch a taxi in the rain And you can wait for a bus half an hour or more 'Cause they like to travel in gangs of four Your folks come to town, you want to take in a show Hey, you should have bought your tickets a year ago Seeing foreign films was a hobby of mine But now you pay a fortune to stand in line To get in a theater that seats twenty-nine And listen to Vivaldi one more time Well the time has come to say au revoir I promised I'd move my sister's car My end, so to speak, begins With an interlocking theme in the violins Sounds pretty good, but a little bare Let's get the violas in there Now cellos and basses, in you go It's time to add the continuo Well that's about it, that's how it ends But remember this, my provincial friends, You may think you're knowedgeable, but you're not In fact, you don't know diddly-squat So don't go judging carelessly If you lived here you'd be just like me I've got no shame, but I've got my pride I'm just trying to get along on the Upper Upper Upper West Side Upper Upper Upper West Side Upper Upper Upper West Side Category:Works attributed to P.D.Q. Bach